The Invitation
by darcyfarrow
Summary: Resisting evil is just half the final battle, Rumple learns. Now comes the hard part: making amends. For @a-monthly-rumbelling, June prompt: Bad day, drink, cuddling.


"Insomnia. Maybe you could prescribe something?"

Hopper invited his guest to sit down on the couch. Rumple knew what that meant: if he accepted the invitation, he'd become Hopper's patient.

For Belle's sake. For Gideon's sake. Hesitantly he lowered himself onto the plaid couch.

"Those midnight feedings with a newborn aren't what's keeping you awake, are they, Mr. Gold?"

After a long pause, Rumple took the plunge. "No."

"Let's talk about what happens when you try to sleep." Archie opened his notebook. "Let's talk about the nightmares and how to fix them."

For himself. "Yes."

"Let's talk about guilt and making amends."

Rumple cocked his head. "But Doctor, how do you make amends when most of your victims are dead?"

* * *

"I don't need to tell _you_ , there's always a price."

Rumple finished Arthur's thought in a murmur: "Equivalent to the value of the trade." He peered down at Belle, whose hand was clutched in his, her fingers massaging his knuckles soothingly. She'd expected this moment; they'd discussed it thoroughly until at last she'd accepted the conclusion he'd come to and the deal he'd decided to propose. She'd fought it for days, but in the end she'd had to admit that he was right: there was only one path to follow. Their only hope was to delay walking it.

"I was—we were—hoping to make a deal." He could feel Belle's heartbeat through the inside of her wrist; he could feel her body stiffen alongside his.

"Of course." Arthur leaned against the edge of his conference table. He'd made this space in the Underworld his own since moving in, filling the dank and empty spaces with modern office furniture and carpeting and electronics. When he'd first ushered them in, the Golds had both had to stop and stare in amusement; from the décor, they would have sworn they'd walked into the office of a bank president. Though he'd spent rather little time there, Arthur had been quite taken with the Land Without Magic and all its toys, and with plenty of time on his hands here, he'd made himself and his staff (that was Arthur's term; Hades had referred to the demons as his "minions") comfortable as well as comparable to any professional "team." He himself deserved a long second look, with his manicured nails, Italian loafers, Armani tie, Cartier wristwatch and Givenchy three-piece. Rumple felt like a slacker standing next to him. But as any good professional would, Arthur had made them welcome with Brasilian coffee ("imported," he chuckled, "but that's not saying much. Here, everything's imported."), invited them to sit and asked about their trip before getting down to business.

"What sort of deal did you have in mind?"

Rumple listened closely for sarcasm or irony but found only sincerity in Arthur's tone. And perhaps there was a touch of something else, gratitude or admiration—Rumple knew that the Lord of the Underworld kept close tabs on the goings on "up above," particularly the activities in the few centers of magic in the Land Without, and especially those happenings that could affect the balance of Good and Evil. No doubt Arthur knew everything that had gone down of late. . . including the fact that Rumple had, once again, killed a parent. Perhaps the reason didn't matter; just days ago, Rumple had killed; that was all that mattered.

Reddening, Rumple lowered his gaze to the polished table. Belle filled in for him: "We know that the price for a soul is a soul. We were hoping, though. . .considering that time is irrelevant here, well, despite-" she motioned to Arthur's watch.

"Just for show," the king winked. "It goes so well with the suit."

Rumple found his tongue. "We were hoping that payment could be delayed."

"I see." Arthur swung around the table and seated himself, not at its head as a superior would, not across from them, as an opponent would, but beside them, as an equal, on Rumple's left. "I assume you intend to pay the price yourself, Mr. Gold."

It was Belle's turn to lower her head, her free hand sliding up to her cheek to brush away a tear. Rumple merely nodded. "No one else could, considering I was the. . . ." He sucked in a breath before blurting, "I was her murderer. Twice. Up there and down here."

"Yes, you were," Arthur agreed. "She'd done some reprehensible things, but nothing that warranted her death. As for your other recent killings—Malcolm and Fiona—let me assure you, the Tribunal has exonerated you. Lauded you, in fact. No telling what condition humanity would be in now, if you hadn't stopped those two. Let me also assure you—and this for public consumption, by the way; we'd like you to carry this message to Storybrooke: the Black Fairy and Peter Pan will never again threaten anyone. They no longer exist, in any capacity."

Belle nodded thoughtfully, her forehead smoothing in relief, but the news seemed only to add to the weight on her husband's shoulders. They'd talked about this extensively already, with Archie as well as between themselves, yet Belle had had to accept that it would be a long time, if ever, before Rumple let go of the guilt. He'd done what was necessary to protect his family; he'd done what was right to save the community; he'd done what justice demanded, to reset the balance. But none of that negated the fact that Rumplestiltskin had killed his own family.

"Back to the deal," Arthur urged. "If it was anyone else, I'd assume you mean to delay payment until your natural death."

"In all honesty, you'd be getting a raw deal if you accepted those terms. I don't know if a natural death is possible for me." Rumple shrugged. "Before, when I was just one in a long line of Dark Ones, I knew _I_ could die, but the Dark One couldn't. Now, with the powers of all the Dark Ones. . . ."

"We honestly don't know either. The Tribunal's talked about it." Arthur rolled his eyes. "Endlessly. Everybody's got an opinion on the subject. But this is a first, so who knows? Not that it wasn't planned; the Fates had worked it out eons ago, that there would come One in whom Light and Dark would be united, and that he would serve humanity as an example that anyone could could conquer the evil within themselves. The Fates had the broad strokes painted, but the specifics. . . ." He spread his hands. "We're not sure where things go from here. Mankind's free will, you know, always throws a monkey wrench into the works."

"In the past, I would've jumped all over that loophole." Rumple smiled wryly. "But I've learned better than to try to screw with the gods." He sat up straighter. "So I'm offering a fair, transparent deal: If you'll free Milah from the River of Lost Souls, I'll take her place." His shoulders drooped. "I've lived a long time. I've had my share of its pleasures and pains. But there's a baby now, and though Belle will raise him with all the love and instruction he needs, he also needs a man to guide him. There are other men who could fill that role, probably better than I could, but—"

"No," Belle interrupted. "No one but you can be a father to Gideon. He needs you. And so do I, and so does Storybrooke. Please, Arthur, if you'll consider this offer—take it to the Tribunal if you have to—it's a fair and honest deal."

"To everyone but you, maybe," Arthur suggested.

"Gideon will graduate high school on June 1, 2035. On June 2, 6 a. m. I'll appear here to pay my end of the deal," Rumple proposed. "But I'd like for you to release Milah today."

"Rumplestiltskin never breaks a deal," Belle reminded Arthur.

"Yes, I know." Arthur stood and paced the length of the table. "You're right, time is meaningless here. We're fully aware what it means to the living. What a father means to a child. What it means to a community when a cycle of damaged parenting can be broken. I think it's a good deal and I would accept it, but—"

The Golds' faces fell. "But?"

"It's unnecessary." With a big grin, Arthur crossed back around and crouched beside Rumple's chair, setting his hand on the Dark One's shoulder. "The Tribunal guessed that you'd make this offer. We've already deliberated—the Fates were the most vocal—and we've decided that we need you to live out the natural course of your existence. Only the Fates know what that might be, and they're not sharing the plan with the rest of us, but they say, and we all agree, that you're more important to us as the Last Savior than as payment on some deal. You've got a big job to do, Rumplestiltskin; raising Gideon and supporting your family and your town are just small parts of it. So this once, we're suspending the Laws of Magic." Arthur rose and snapped his fingers. "Look around, you two, to the river."

Eyes wide, the Golds clambered to their feet and spun around to face the eternally churning River of Lost Souls. A beam of white light, reminding Rumple of lighthouse searchlights, broke through the water and burst into the air, catching water drops and making them shine like diamonds. The Golds had to shield their eyes from the bright light. Gradually it faded, the water drops splashing back down into the river, and when their eyes had readjusted, they saw standing before them a bewildered and wet Milah. She cocked her head, staring at them in disbelief, and water sluiced off her hair and shoulders.

Arthur walked over to her, his arm outstretched. "Welcome back, Milah."

She gaped at his open palm before daring to accept it. Finding his touch solid, she chose to accept that what she was seeing must be real, and she tested her rusty voice. "What? What?"

"What happened?" Arthur prompted. "You've been released. They did it." He waved the Golds forward.

"Hello, Milah. I'm Belle." She offered her hand; automatically, Milah released Arthur's to shake Belle's. The latter kept her tone even but cool. "I'm Rumplestiltskin's wife."

"Hello, Milah." Rumple didn't offer his hand; she probably wouldn't have taken it. "I came to make an apology, for everything. . . the times I refused to listen to you, the times I didn't give you what you needed. . . ." He raised his chin bravely. "For killing you. I can't make amends for what I did, and I don't imagine you'll ever forgive me, but I came to fix this, at least." He nodded toward the river.

Milah collected her scattered thoughts. "Something happens, when you die, Rumple: you gain a second sight. You see only what's ahead and where you want to go. I let go of my anger, years ago. All I want is to move on and be with Bae." She turned to Arthur. "Is that possible?"

"It always was. All you have to do is to choose it." Arthur directed their attention to a long and winding stone walkway that led into a hazy distant light.

Stunned, she exchanged a glance with each of them, then turned toward the walkway, but Rumple grasped her arm. "Milah, please, I need to know: can you forgive me?"

"I've had centuries to forget you. I never quite did, because of Bae. But there," she pointed to the river, "where regret and guilt grab your ankles and drag you down, and anger and disappointment push your head under so you can't breathe, every minute as you're dying you're reliving your life. Just now, though, when I emerged and could breathe again, I realized the only way to survive is to reach out in forgiveness and cling to the hand of love, because that's the only power that lasts." She pressed her hand into his. "For the son we brought into the world, I love you, Rumple, and I'll pray for happiness for you and for Belle. When you see Killian, tell him I wish the best for him." Slowly, she walked over to the path and set one unsteady foot on the stones. "I'll tell Bae you've found peace, Rumple." She set the other foot onto the walkway, straightened her shoulders and looked off into the distance.

"Thank you, Milah," Rumple started to breathe again.

"Safe journey, Milah," Belle wished.

"Goodbye." She took a step forward. "I'm sure we'll meet each—" she broke off with a gasp, clasping her hand over her mouth briefly before she started to wave wildly at something they couldn't see. "It's him!" She spared Rumple a quick, joyous shout. "Rumple, it's Bae! He's waiting for me!" Disregarding the stones, she began to run. They watched her, waving and calling to her son as she slipped, stumbled and kept running, until she faded into the haze and they couldn't make out her form any longer.

"It's good," Belle grinned. "I just—I can't think of any other words for it. Good."

"Yes," Arthur agreed. "As many times as I've witnessed the transition, it never grows old. It will be that way for you too, Belle, when the time comes. Which, I'm hopeful, will be many years from now. After all, you have a job we need you to do."

She linked her arm through her husband's. "I promise I'll never again forget that."

"Thank you, Arthur. And them." Rumple nodded toward the ceiling, suggesting the heavens. "My thanks to them. I promise to stay the course too."

"Now that you have some idea where you're supposed to go," Belle added.

"For now, your path heads to Storybrooke," Arthur nudged them toward his lobby. "I'll walk you back to the boat." As they left the office, he asked, "So who's minding the baby while you're here?"

"He's in good hands," Belle replied. "With our friend Mr. Dove."

"Dove. Yes. I have a little secret I'm at liberty to share: your Mr. Dove is one of ours. Or more correctly, one of Aphrodite's."

Rumple raised his eyebrows. "Dove has been with me for years. Since I first moved into the Dark Castle."

"He was sort of a promise that eventually, Aphrodite would be sending True Love your way."

"Aphrodite put us together?" Belle practically shouted. "Rumple, did you hear that? The goddess of love wants us together!"

"Oh, more than her," Arthur assured them as they walked out onto the street. "Zeus, Hera, they're all behind this." He waggled a finger between them to indicate he meant their relationship. "And behind them, the Fates. Fixing what the Black Fairy did. If she'd left well enough alone, you would've been the Lone Savior, Rumple. But since she didn't and you followed the Darkness instead, the Fates knew you'd need a helpmate." He grinned down at Belle. "A brave and very stubborn one."

At the edge of the Styx, the silent Charon waited, standing in his boat. Arthur helped them board, then waved them off. "I look forward to seeing what you two do next. Goodbye, Golds, good luck and remember, if things get cloudy again, you can always pray."

"Goodbye, Arthur." They waved. "Thank you."

* * *

Dove was waiting for them on the porch, where he'd lulled Gideon to sleep in the swing. He glanced from one to the other, uncertain to whom to offer the baby as both parents were extending their arms; Belle won, but she offered to share her cuddling privileges. Rumple squeezed in close beside her and slipped one arm under hers under the baby. They took turns kissing pudgy cheeks.

"Safe journey?" Dove asked, hovering over them.

"It was," Belle said. "Thank you for taking care of Gideon for us."

"My pleasure. Always. I have a pot roast in the oven. I thought you might be too tired to cook. I have a 2009 Bordeaux to go with it. Would either of you like a glass now?"

"2009, a good year for Bordeaux," Rumple mused. "Yes, thank you, Mr. Dove, I'd welcome a glass right now." He rested his forehead against Belle's. "2017, a good year for us. I hope."

"I'm sure it will be," she assured him as Dove went into the house. "We have lots of help now."

"And a purpose," he said thoughtfully. "I have a new—" He broke off as the familiar yellow Bug pulled into the driveway behind Dove's Dodge. Reluctantly, he got to his feet to greet the new arrivals, with a small smile for the sheriff and a small frown for the man now wearing the deputy's badge. "Sheriff Jones. Captain Jones." He pointedly stared at the badge on Hook's belt. "Is there trouble in town, Sheriff? Assembling a posse?"

Belle snickered, knowing that her Westerns-loving husband had always wanted to say a line like that.

"Just hiring a replacement for my dad." Leaving the driver's door open, Emma rested against the trunk of her car. "You might've heard, he and Mom bought a farm. We just finished helping them move." She ran a hand through her sweaty ponytail. "Tiring day."

"You look like you had a rough day too." Hook mounted the stairs to dutifully admire the baby.

"We. . . just came back from a long trip," Belle explained.

"Did you? I hope you had a pleasant journey?" He was fishing for details, but Belle wouldn't provide them. Instead, she prompted, letting him hear the weariness in her voice, "What can we do for you, Killian?"

But Emma was the one to answer. She came forward with an envelope that she presented to Belle. "We won't stay. We just wanted to drop this off."

Her arms full of sleeping baby, Belle couldn't accept the envelope, so Emma passed it on to Rumple. "It's an invitation," Hook explained. "We've having a dinner party tomorrow night. Nothing fancy."

"We're celebrating 30 days of uninterrupted peace and quiet," Emma announced. "And our one-month anniversary. We'd like you to come." There was just a slight hesitation as she touched Gideon's cheek. Whether it was simple awkwardness around a newborn or whether Emma was remembering what this soul had threatened to do just a month ago, Belle wasn't sure, but she was sure that in time, relationships would change and people would forgive.

She'd witnessed it just a few minutes ago, in the most miraculous way.

Rumple was reading the invitation intently, as if he had doubt about its veracity. He informed Belle, "It's addressed to both of us. Six o'clock at Granny's." He stared at the invitation again, then peered at Emma, then at Hook, assessing them all.

"We want both of you," Hook said. His body had tensed, as if he half-expected to get smacked in the head with a cane.

"All three of you," Emma corrected. "It's a family thing."

Seemingly satisfied, Rumple suggested, "I have four bottles of Chianti that would go well with lasagna."

Belle released a breath. "Rumple!"

"You'll come, then?" Hook asked.

"For Gideon," Rumple said softly to Belle. "He's going to need to be accepted here. And for you, because you deserve a social life." He lowered his voice even further. "And for me."

"Because you need friends too," Belle added.

Carrying a tray holding a bottle and three glasses, Dove elbowed his way out the stained-glass door. "Oh! Sheriff. Captain." He set the tray down on a small table. "I'll bring out more glasses, shall I?"

"We can't stay—" Emma started, but Hook, with a meaningful glance at Rumple, corrected, "We could stay for one glass. If that's all right." He offered his hand toward his old rival. "I think it's time we started to. . . ." He shrugged, unable to find a word to end his sentence.

"Fix things," Rumple supplied.

"Yes, fix things, perhaps," Belle agreed. She scooted over to make room on the swing. "Would you like to hold the baby, Emma?"

"I, ah, okay," Emma seated herself and gingerly accepted the bundle.

Rumple filled the three available glasses and distributed them to his guests and his wife. As Dove came back with two more glasses, Rumple glanced at Belle, who seemed to understand what he was wondering; she nodded in encouragement. With feigned casualness, Rumple began as Dove poured him a glass of wine, "Belle and I saw Milah today."

"Milah?!"

"She had a message for you." Rumple gestured to the top step, inviting Hook to sit, as he seated himself there.

"Milah," Hook echoed in amazement. "You went to the Underworld then."

"Yes. Perhaps you'd like to hear about it."

"I would, yes." Hook sipped his wine. "I would."

"I'd like to tell you," Rumple said. "And, uh, another of the things we could talk about fixing, perhaps, is that hook."

"You still have my left hand? But the curse on it?" The captain asked.

"That was just a joke," Rumple admitted. "An impractical joke. Stop by the shop in the morning, if you like."

"I think I'd like that."

* * *

"You gave Hook his hand back?" Archie nearly dropped his patient notes. " _And_ you freed Milah, offering your own soul in return? Mr. Gold, I'm, I'm, I don't know what to say!"


End file.
